The desk lamp cast a sickly yellow glow across the papers, the numbers swimming before Rebecca’s eyes. Each digit was a nail in the coffin of Sector 1’s prosperity. The GEM loans were a poisoned promise. Rebecca rubbed her temples. So many defaults. Specifically, during the last ten years of her father's tenure. It stank of something rotten, something deliberately concealed beneath layers of bureaucratic jargon and falsified reports.

  The silence of the study was broken only by the rustle of paper. The analysts at the banks, the bureaucrats at the Economic Bureau – they weren’t fools. They had to have seen it coming. These loans, with their unrealistic performance metrics, were designed to fail. They were designed to bleed dry the already parched veins of these struggling communities.

  But why?

  She traced the pattern of the defaults. And there it was, the same damn companies scooping up the collateral like vultures at a feast. The same names, again and again. A knot tightened in her stomach. This wasn’t incompetence. This was a deliberate dismantling, a calculated theft.

  Rebecca needed proof. She needed someone who'd seen the inside of this machine, someone who knew where the gears ground and the levers were pulled.

  Lydia

  The old woman had seen enough in her time. She'd know. She had to know. Lydia led the Economic Bureau for decades. And if she confirmed Rebecca’s suspicions, then this would be the honeypot Rebecca could give Veronica. This could be the leverage she needed, the ammunition to finally expose the rot that festered beneath the gilded surface of the city.

  This could…

  The shrill ringing of the phone sliced through Rebecca’s thoughts. She stared at it, the insistent clamor pulling her back to the present. She glanced at her watch, the luminous hands pointing to half-past ten.

  Odd.

  No one ever called this late. A prickle of unease made her slightly shiver. She crossed the room, picking up the receiver from the wall-mounted phone in the kitchen.

  "Rebecca Santander," she answered curtly.

  "Rebecca, it's Jeffrey. Something’s happened. Something bad." Jeffrey’s voice was tight, strained and worrisome.

  "What's wrong?" Rebecca urgently asked.

  "It's Olt… my family… they were attacked."

  Rebecca’s grip tightened on the receiver.

  "Attacked? By who?"

  "I don’t know. I wasn’t here. They said it was a woman… she… she had Aether abilities."

  “Is everyone at the farmhouse?” Rebecca asked, the memories of Alonso’s attack still fresh in her mind.

  Jeffrey's voice cracked.

  "For the most part. But…Olt, he’s hurt bad. Broken ribs, bleeding… I don't know the extent of it. But he needs medical attention, and we can’t risk taking him to a hospital.”

  If Olt was this injured, it meant he must have confronted this woman. How in hell was he still breathing?

  “Jeffrey, are you telling me Olt took on that person by himself…but how? A normal body can’t withstand a user.”

  “Well that’s just it, Rebecca,” Jeffrey commented with an unsettling tone, “I think he has access to it.”

  The implications were chilling. Rebecca knew Olt was well trained in combat, but never did she suspect Olt had use of the Aether.

  “I’m afraid this might be linked to Alonso’ attack…” Jeffrey added.

  Jeffrey knew. Did Olt tell him? Or was it Ganjo?

  Regardless, Ganjo had informed Rebecca and Olt about the mysterious Veronica. Rebecca was sure Olt confronted Jeffrey about it.

  “Uh, ok. Wow…this is a lot to process right now.”

  The endless hours of reading through data had taken a toll on Rebecca’s mind. Now, this news. Analysis paralysis was setting in.

  “Uh, ok Jeffrey. First’s things first, medical attention. Uh, you need me to contact Ganjo? I’m sure he has people that could help Olt. They won’t talk, I’m sure.”

  “No, I don’t want Ganjo involved in this right now,” Jeffey stressed. “ I need to talk to you in person. I was calling to ask if you could come here, now. And if you could do me the favor of finding a healer on your way.”

  A healer?

  They were rare and Rebecca knew that in Synoro, even more. Whatever healers did exist were specifically monopolized by the combat trials.

  “Jeffrey, I’ll be on my way, no problem. But, a healer. Do you know how-”

  At that moment, Rebecca realized there was a healer she knew well.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Alright, I’ll see if I can have a healer join me. But, Jeffrey, if you don’t want Ganjo to be involved, he definitely will find out eventually. The healer I have in mind works for him.”

  “Eh that’s fine!” Jeffrey growled. “ I don’t care if he finds out. I just don’t want him involved in this right now.”

  “Alright, I’ll be there asap,” Rebecca said.

  “Thank you, Rebecca,” Jeffrey said. “And be careful; these fucks are coming out of nowhere.”

  Rebecca hung up the phone, the dial tone buzzing in her ear like a trapped insect. She stood there for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts, before grabbing her coat and heading out into the night.

  ...

  Jeffrey lowered the receiver, the click echoing in the sudden quiet of the kitchen. Omar sat at the table, his face etched with worry. He shot back a small glass of rum he had poured himself.

  “Rebecca’s on his way,” Jeffrey announced. “He’s bringing a healer.”

  Omar’s eyebrows shot up.

  “A healer? Those might as well be unicorns in these parts.”

  Jeffrey nodded.

  “I know Rebecca and Ganjo still have strong connections. Connections I cut out of my life.”

  He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice as he said it. Perhaps if he had accounted for a rainy day, he wouldn’t need to ask for favors. He was a fool to think he could escape.

  Omar's eyes wandered, calculating his thoughts.

  “A healer would be right for this scenario. Could speed up the recovery. Though, depending on what happened to Olt… even a healer might not be enough.”

  Jeffrey frowned.

  “What do you mean?”

  Omar hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.

  “I’m afraid whatever he drank was laced with the wrong stuff. Think about it. Where would Olt have gained access to a pure potion? The purchase of Indigo is monopolized specifically by the Firms and the DPS. The only firm practicing in Synoro is Krautzberger, and that just started. Before then, Oliver Nader gave the monopoly to the religious wing of the DoJ. Only thing I could think of was that Olt leveraged his contacts at the Institute and got an off the books deal. The Institute is run by the DoJ, after all. I doubt it would be the Dasa Vech.”

  A chill snaked down Jeffrey’s spine.

  “I wouldn’t don’t doubt it if I were you. Who’s well connected to the Dasa?”

  A troubled look formed in Omar’s eyes.

  “Ganjo.”

  Jeffrey swallowed hard. The thought of Olt resorting to the potion. It was a terrifying prospect. He ran a hand over his face, the fatigue of the night settling heavily upon him. Shame overwhelmed Jeffrey. He had promised Omar he would keep the family safe. It was an oath he made after what happened to Rodrigo.

  The midday sun beat down on the bustling street. Warehouses lined up either side of the narrow street. The air was thick with the metallic tang of industry. Sounds vibrated with the rhythmic clang of machinery and the shouts of workers. Trucks, laden with steel and other materials, rumbled past, their tires crunching on the uneven asphalt. Inappropriate graffiti of women in suggestive poses adorned the warehouse walls, balancing the drab uniformity of the buildings themselves. Two figures, young and full of life, walked against the flow of the pedestrian traffic. Their easy laughter stood apart from the bangs and slashes of industry.

  Jeffrey, his youthful face already showing the hard lines that would deepen with age, slapped the back of Rodrigo's head playfully.

  "Shut up, clown. Twenty years old and already going bald. You're gonna look like a literal dickhead."

  Rodrigo, his brown skin gleaming with sweat, threw his head back and laughed.

  "Hey, at least I'll have company," he retorted, gesturing to Jeffrey's own receding hairline. "Besides," Rodrigo added, his green eyes sparkling with optimism, "I'll be too busy running the family business to worry about my hair. Just a few more months, and that degree is mine. Then it's time to bring Bartholomew Metalworks into the future."

  He paused, as his view scanned over the surrounding warehouses.

  "Direct sales to the Firms, Jeff. No more hunters or hobbyists . We're going big time."

  Jeffrey grinned, his own eyes reflecting Rodrigo's enthusiasm.

  "I’m looking forward to helping you and your old man with that," he said with sincerity. "And hey," he added, his tone softening, "thanks again for giving me a chance at the shop. Means a lot."

  Rodrigo stopped walking, his hand resting on Jeffrey's shoulder.

  "You deserve it, man. You're my best friend. Always there for me, no matter what."

  He clapped Jeffrey on the back.

  "You're family, Jeff."

  They resumed walking. The rhythmic clang of metal grew louder as they approached a large warehouse, its loading bay was a hive of activity. Trucks pulled in and out, workers scurried around, and sparks flew from welding torches.

  "Old Man Velasquez!" Rodrigo shouted, his voice barely audible above the din.

  A man, his face weathered and lined, emerged from the warehouse, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and extended a calloused hand.

  "Rodrigo! Jeffrey! Good to see you boys. How's Omar doing?"

  "He's good," Rodrigo replied, shaking the old man's hand. "He sent you this."

  Rodrgio pulled a folded check from his pocket and offered it to Mr. Velazquez.

  "Oh, you shouldn't have," Mr. Velasquez protested, waving his hand dismissively. "Your father owes me nothing."

  Rodrigo insisted, gently pushing the check into the old man's hand.

  "It's a holiday gift, Mr. Velasquez. From our family to yours. For always being there, even when we were on payments."

  Mr. Velasquez hesitated, then accepted the check with a grateful smile. He pulled Rodrigo into a hug.

  "You're a good kid, Rodrigo. Just like your father."

  As they pulled apart, Rodrigo winked at Jeffrey.

  "Run, Jeff, before he changes his mind!"

  They turned and sprinted down the street, laughing. Rodrigo slowed down, turning to look back at Jeffrey who was a few feet behind him .

  "Hey, I'm gonna take a detour," he shouted. "I’m gonna see Elsa."

  Jeffrey chuckled.

  "Careful, man. Her dad's gonna kick your ass if he catches you two together."

  Rodrigo opened his mouth to reply, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. But the words died in his throat. A sleek, silver sports car appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It roared down the street, its engine screaming. The car swerved, as its tires screeched against the asphalt. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the car slammed into Rodrigo. The impact deafened Jeffrey’s senses. Rodrigo's body, flung into the air like a rag doll, and landed with a disturbing crunch several feet away. For a fleeting moment, Jeffrey saw the driver's cold face. A jolt of recognition shot through him.

  The car sped off, disappearing around the corner. Dust covered the sky. The entire event was so quick and brutal, that Jeffrey remained frozen. His mind could not process the horror that unfolded before him.